


Tiger Hunt

by SandraMorningstar



Series: M for... [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drug Cartel, Drug Use, M/M, Mission Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 22:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2558165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandraMorningstar/pseuds/SandraMorningstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian is sent to Colombia to monitor the shipment of the drug cartel Moriarty is financing. The job sounds simple but might just be the sniper's final mission...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tiger Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> After the last Oneshot I had the immediate urge to write on - so I did. And I already have an idea for the next one. :)

Moriarty had made it abundantly clear that the kiss – and everything that had happened afterwards – meant nothing to him. Sebastian really hadn’t expected anything else.

Therefore it came as even less of a surprise when the boss told him he would send him on a very important mission. In Colombia.

Clearly, Sebastian mused, the boss wanted him out of the way. The question he didn’t dare ask was why. He hadn’t mentioned their little tête-a-tête nor had he been disloyal or failed to finish a job. Still he felt like he was punished as he packed his bags, boarded the plane and saw London shrink as they rose higher until it vanished from view completely.

 

* * *

 

Sebastian quickly came to hate Colombia. The air seemed to burn his lungs with every breath, supercharged with heat, dust and smog. The masses and the unfamiliar environment made his heart and mind race, constantly expecting an attack. Moriarty hadn’t told him what he wanted him to do, just that one of his men would contact him but that it could take a while. So he booked a room in a run-down hotel in Bogotá as the boss had instructed him to and waited.

The first few days he mostly kept to his room where the sweltering heat seemed almost bearable at times but he quickly got bored of staring at the stained walls all day. Soon he made it a habit to explore the city’s nightlife. At first the dingy bars disgusted him but after a few drinks they weren’t that bad. He began to like them in a way. The air was full of bawdy laughter and the exotic words of the local tongue, drink was cheap, the women beautiful. Moran bathed in the vibrant, excited life of those places. He drank until the world became a haze and then some, ending the night with a shag in some alley or backyard. Hours later, he would awake feeling hollow and hung-over but knowing he would go back in the evening.

It was his way of dealing – or rather not dealing – with his feelings, Moran mused. His mind was haunted by Moriarty. Most of the time the thoughts were angry, on his worst days even vengeful. So he drank to numb them until he could pretend they didn’t exist. He felt abandoned and he hated himself for it.

It came as a relief when two weeks after his arrival Moriarty’s contact finally came and told him what the boss wanted him to do. He would be stationed at a camp of the drug cartel the boss was financing. They recently hadn’t been as successful as Moriarty was accustomed to so he had sent him to “assess the situation” as the contact put it.

Sebastian immediately had the feeling that there was more to the job. It was the vagueness of the assignment that tipped him off. Moriarty was so intent on his orders being executed exactly as he’d planned that he would never give such hazy instructions.

He grew even more suspicious when he arrived at the camp. One of the more important ringleaders of the cartel was present. He was a tall, lean man with cruel eyes that introduced himself as Patrón, undoubtedly an alias. He gave the friendly host and showed Moran around the camp, their processing facilities and the fields. Sebastian played along and did his best to appear inconspicuous. During dinner he chatted a bit with the mercenaries guarding the operation and gained a lot of intel from their stories. They didn’t know any specifics of the shipments but that wasn’t what Sebastian was after. He wanted information about the camp, its security and inhabitants and they delivered without a second thought. The two bottles of whiskey he had brought had helped to loosen their tongues.

When he’d heard enough he excused himself for the night and went to his tent. Lying on the uncomfortable cot he waited for the camp to become silent. Then he sneaked outside, easily knocking out the guard in front of his tent. Some of the men had hinted that something was to happen tonight and he wanted to make sure he was a part of it.

 

The metallic stuttering of an old truck cut through the darkness. Sebastian ducked behind some barrels and watched. At first he thought they were just loading up a new shipment but when none of the workers left their tent to follow he wasn’t so convinced anymore. Silently he made his way through the camp and followed the tire tracks to the containers they used as a warehouse. The truck stood abandoned next to the front door that was slightly ajar.

For a moment Moran pondered if it was a good idea to go inside. He was pretty sure the drug smugglers would rethink their hospitality if they caught him.

He went in nonetheless.

 

The warehouse was dark except for a flickering light near the back, probably a lantern. Two voices were arguing in hushed tones. Moran used the high stacks of cocaine packages as cover to get closer and listen in on their conversation.

Or he tried to at least. The men spoke Spanish and he didn’t understand a word. Cursing under his breath he turned to leave and found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. He was harshly pushed out of his hiding place to face the two men he had spied on. They turned to face him and their sardonic grins and lack of surprise told him that his had all been set up. A trap. He cursed himself, his eyes already scanning his surroundings as he tried to come up with an escape plan.

“Mister Moriarty told me he’d sent one of his best men”, the ring leader said and turned to face him. “I was quite impressed to be honest. Sadly you couldn’t deliver.” He was taunting him, trying to provoke him. An angry prey is an easy prey. Sebastian knew, yet couldn’t stop himself from answering.

“You’re dead wrong if you think you’ve got me”, he spat out.

“From where I’m standing your threats don’t sound very impressive”, Patrón said. “I have ways to silence you permanently. Soon you’ll be just another problem of the past and I’ll continue selling a third each harvest myself.”

“You can’t kill me. Moriarty will ask questions and he won’t take kindly if his best man just goes missing”, Sebastian said. His self-assured grin masking the fact that he wasn’t sure how much truth his words held.

“Moriarty already sent to men before you who never returned. Have you really deceived yourself to think you’re special to him?” The ringleader laughed. “I could shoot you right here and no one would care but to be perfectly honest I’d rather prefer a different method.”

“And what would that be?”

“Look around!”, Patrón requested and made a sweeping gesture, a sardonic grin on his face. “I’ll give you a taste of our best product.” Moran paled. He wasn’t afraid of much but this certainly scared him.

This had gone on for long enough, he decided. With a quick jolt of his elbow against the arm of the guard behind him he disarmed the man. Then turned and grabbed him by the shoulders, dragging the guard’s body in front of his own to use as a human shield. Shots were fired and the man collapsed. Sebastian was already half outside. Bullets flew past him and were deflected by the metal walls of the container. A few of them grazed his skin but Sebastian just cursed and ran even faster.

When he finally made it outside, the camp was up in arms. He had planned to run back to his tent to grab his gun but that was out of the question now. Quickly adapting his strategy, he turned away from the tent and sprinted into the jungle. That, while not giving him an advantage, at least ensured they were on equal footing.

 

Sebastian ran into the darkness, deeper and deeper into the undergrowth, the voices following him. They seemed to come from every direction but Moran knew they were still behind him. The glow of their flashlights were betraying them.

He was sweating and breathing heavily, the uneven ground tiring him quickly. At this rate it was only a matter of time until they caught him. He needed to get past them, back to the camp, somehow.

Suddenly a wall of flashlights appeared on his right and he made a break to the left to get away. They were herding him like a wild animal and if he didn’t find a way out of this they would have him exactly where they wanted. But this prey was too smart for them, Moran thought grimly. He looked over his shoulder to see if maybe there was a gap in the line-up of his pursuers he could use to slip past them. If he made it back he could steal one of the cars and –

He couldn’t finish his thought as he was yanked off his feet and pulled into the air, finding himself dangling upside down by a rope around his ankle. Another trap. This was getting embarrassing. At least he hadn’t yelled so he was still undetected. He could even use this to his advantage, he realised. Moran pulled himself upward until he could grab the rope and used it to climb the tree.

Now out of sight he proceeded to untie the noose around his ankle. Many feet below him the men from the camp walked past. Unaware that they had lost their prey.

He waited until they were out of sight before climbing back down. Vengeful thoughts filled his mind. That whole damned place deserved to be blown to pieces and he would be the one doing it, he thought grimly while jogging back to the camp.

 

The first stop was his tent where he grabbed his gun, knife and passport. Then he made his way to the supply of the mercenaries and fetched some – or rather a lot of – explosives. He had learned more than he’d ever wanted to know about their usage in the military and didn’t take long to place and wire them up.

Unwinding the fuse he was on his way out of the camp when he felt a sudden pain on his neck. He suspected a mosquito and tried to squish it but instead found it was something else. A blow dart.

His heart raced and he let go of the fuse and ran. He needed to get out of here before the effects of whatever had been in that dart set in. His mind raced. Should he short-circuit one of the cars? No. too slow and he might have an accident if he passed out while driving. So he kept on running. His feet suddenly heavy, his breaths shallow. He forced himself to run faster. They wouldn’t get him, they wouldn’t…

 

* * *

 

A splash of cold water woke him up. He was tied to a chair and by the looks of it in one of the unused containers. How very cliché. They seemed intent on going with it, Sebastian thought bitterly, when the ringleader entered the stage again, followed by one of the mercenaries who Moran knew was the torture master. It was like a scene from a goddamn movie. He suddenly felt the urge to laugh at them.

“You find this funny?”, the leader asked, an angry edge in his voice. He was used to people begging for mercy and breaking in front of him when he put on his little show. Moran wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. He knew this game far too well to be intimidated by it. The threats, the showing of the torture instruments and the intricate descriptions what they would do to him – merely scare tactics. For most people the thought alone was enough to make them give up their secrets more than willingly but Sebastian had been tortured so often that it couldn’t scare him anymore. Plus he still doubted the man would actually deliver. He had been all talk when he’d showed him around the camp and surely that wouldn’t be any different now.

“I asked you if you find this funny, Mister Moran”, his opponent repeated his question.

“Yes. Yes, in fact I do”, Moran said. “I could do more damage tied up like this than that amateur.”

“I’m sure he’ll be able to show you how wrong you are –“

“Please, I eat kids like him for breakfast”, Sebastian interrupted and rolled his eyes as if this whole situation bored him unbelievably. He was stalling for time.

“You annoy me, Mister Moran. I’m done listening to your threats”, the ringleader said calmly and pulled something out of his pocket. It was a syringe.

Sebastian threw himself against the ropes that held him in place, desperately trying to break free. It was a futile fight. The torturer held him in place as the ringleader gave him the shot.

Almost immediately Moran noticed the first effects. There was a loud ringing in his ears and he heard everything muffled as if under water. The Patrón said something to the torturer, then left. Moran tried to concentrate, focus on reading the other man’s face but his attention was quickly fading. Dispersed until it was everywhere and nowhere at once.

A cold knife was pressed against his burning skin, cutting his chest. His shirt suddenly, inexplicably gone. Lapses in memory. His heart was racing. The man was screaming at him but Sebastian couldn’t understand a word. The ringing in his ears was just too loud.

Another cut and he screamed. The torturer choked him until he shut up, then released his grip. Leaving Moran to gasp for air. Everything afterwards was a blur of caged energy without chronological order. Hallucinations and reality bleeding into each other and just as his mind became fully clear again, another needle – the next shot – was forced into him. The ringing in his ears deafening this time.

They must have given him a higher dosage this time. Too high maybe, he thought panicked. It was the last clear thought he had…

 

* * *

 

Guns were fired somewhere but maybe Sebastian was just imagining things again. He tried to concentrate but the drugs in his system kept his senses painfully numb. His pulse was racing, his breathing shallow and laboured. He felt his body slowly giving up.

Now he was sure he’d heard something from outside. Screaming. Men yelling in Spanish. Gunfire.

The door was forcefully pushed open and two menacing looking men with guns stepped inside. Was the camp being raided? He hoped the guys would have enough mercy in them to just shoot him. He’d like to die quick if not heroic.

He closed his eyes because no matter what happened it wouldn’t be long now.

Light footsteps approached. He didn’t look to see who it was.

“It’s him”, a brisk voice said. The slight Irish lilt of the words the most beautiful thing he’d heard in a long time. Especially when Moriarty said: “Carry him to the truck. We’re going home.”

Sebastian knew the boss would be furious but that just didn’t seem important at the moment.


End file.
